


Christmas Spirit (Or Some Shit Like That)

by BooBalooPants



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, OOC, au in which we can have nice things??, horny boys, i can't get over this ship, indulgent fluff, silly dumb fic, silly/trying his best Merle, tis the season for fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BooBalooPants/pseuds/BooBalooPants
Summary: Established Rick/Merle.Two dumb men go Christmas shopping in the zombie apocalypse. If this sounds like a dumb plan, it is. But listen; Rick wants Carl and Judith to have a Very Merry Christmas, and Merle is always here for a dumb plan (amongst other things).
Relationships: Merle Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 12
Kudos: 12





	Christmas Spirit (Or Some Shit Like That)

**Author's Note:**

> this year i was attacked by this pairing. i also spent a good part of this year trying to *believably* bring these guys together. This fic is not that. it's purely self-indulgent ooc meandering fluffy sappy shit. And if anyone else happens to enjoy it, yay!  
> Merry Christmas, and a happy new year!

Rick thought that too many Christmas lights were gaudy looking, but when you were drinking (and already pretty drunk) they were also good at making other people look…different.

Gold and silver lights, flickering and creating an ethereal aura, all around whoever you happened to be pressing your greedy lips to.

But damn it, Rick _must’ve_ been drunk, if Merle Dixon was beginning to look like an angel.

“ _Goddamn_ ,” said the unlikely angel.

“What?” Rick’s smirk rippled, before he pulled him into another much greedier kiss.

“…nothin’,” Merle sounded breathless when they eventually broke apart. “Jus’ love it when you do that.”

His face was all flushed and stupidly lit up with those stupid Christmas lights again. He quickly wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Unable to wipe away that dumb grin, though. 

Rick wanted to kiss it again, so he did.

“Christ, get a room,” someone said.

Rick blinked and noticed Tara’s attempt at a glare in their direction.

“Carl’ll be back any minute, y’know.”

Merle laughed loudly. “Carl’s with his girl. He ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Rick clipped him round the head.

“Hey, what was that for…?”

“For being a jackass?” Michonne guessed, as she walked by. “Guessing you two don’t need a top up?”

She dangled a bottle of wine in front of them, and Merle lurched to grab it. Rick pulled him back.

“No thanks,” he glared at Merle. “You don’t even _like_ wine.”

“I like any and all alcohol,” Merle insisted, and then dropped his head against Rick’s shoulder with a contented sound. 

The night ended like that; with Merle drooling and snoozing away there, whilst Rick tried his best to concentrate on whatever Gabriel was talking to him about. Something to do with prosperous new year celebrations. That all seemed very far into the future, though. 

In the background Tara was comforting someone who’d thrown up in the kitchen. Michonne, Daryl and Aaron were all lounging on couches, talking in needless detail about Daryl’s muscular arms. Daryl looked a cross between annoyed and embarrassed about it all. 

“I was right,” Merle proudly told Rick later, out of the blue.

They were halfway across the lawn to Daryl’s (and by extension, Merle’s) house, and Merle had already staggered and fell against Rick at least four times in the two minutes it usually took to get there.

“Right about what?” Rick asked him. He reluctantly unwound his arm from a shoulder, as they reached the doorstep.

“Yer boy. He didn’t come back to the house at all. He got lucky.”

“You really are a jackass, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Merle agreed, and then laughed and almost fell against Rick’s chest again. Rick didn’t mind at all. “…shit. Think I’m kinda wasted.”

“Yeah, I think you are, too.”

Rick waited a few seconds, hand slight but secure around Merle’s back, to steady them both.

His own head was spinning, but he was a little more together, in that he knew he shouldn’t invite himself into the Dixons house.

No matter how much Merle looked at him like _that_.

“Well. Goodnight then, jackass.”

“G’night, Friendly,” and Merle grasped his arm, head tilting and leaning into a wanting, expectant kiss anyway.

Difficult to deny that. And it was only another way of saying goodnight, wasn’t it? Rick’s smushed-up brain reasoned for him.

So he kissed him. And then a few more times, just to be safe.

“Hey,” Daryl’s voice said, eventually. He sounded irritated and was standing just behind Rick. “You two’ve been sayin’ goodnight and blockin’ the damn doorway for ten minutes, now.”

Rick prised himself away from Merle and took some steps back, trying to look dignified with a crumpled, whiskey-stained shirt and a sudden bout of double-vision.

Two Merle’s were already slumping against the doorframe, grinning dumbly at Daryl.

“…uh, hey, baby brother.”

Daryl rolled his eyes in Rick’s direction.

“Thanks for gettin’ him home. I guess.”

Rick smiled weakly.

“Goodnight, Daryl.”

He couldn’t even remember getting himself home.

A drunken night ‘out’ in the zombie apocalypse was absurd, but it was also weirdly comforting. As was the headache that thrummed into the early morning, transforming into a hangover that felt normal and wanted. 

Merle was waiting for him at Alexandria’s gates, framed by the morning light and rubbing his head. He looked as rough as Rick felt.

“Did yer wake the kids up?” he grumbled.

Rick shook his head.

“What about Daryl?”

“Nope,” Merle’s smile became wearier. “Feel like shit, though. Did I do anythin’ real stupid last night?”

“No more than usual,” Rick considered. “Everyone was pretty drunk and stupid, though.”

Merle sneered like he didn’t believe it. Then his eyes narrowed a fraction in Rick’s direction.

“You sure ‘bout this? It’s s’posed to snow pretty bad today, y’know.”

Concern still looked kind of strange on his face.

Rick grasped his arm.

“I’m sure. But let’s try and be quick about it, before anyone wakes up.” 

**

** 

They weren’t quick about it, and it was only because it _did_ snow.

To Merle’s credit, he didn’t say _I told you so_ at all.

“Cookin’ up a real storm out there, Friendly,” he observed instead.

Rick glanced over his shoulder, where Merle was slouched and peeking out the store window like he might be admiring something perfectly scenic.

The glass was glittering frost, and the sky was quickly turning into a blur of white. More concerning was the occasional glimpse of decaying fingers, scratching against the glass.

A crack was already threading down the doorway.

Rick clenched his jaw and looked back around the store.

Another casualty of looters; items strewn out all along bare-shelved aisles, abandoned and tipped over shopping carts, plus the odd decomposing walker hanging across checkouts or buried amongst the less essential items.

Rick stared at the box of Christmas decorations on the countertop. He’d found them just a few minutes ago and had been unnecessarily pleased about it.

He wondered if he might be going crazy.

“More walkers?” he muttered.

“Yeah,” said Merle. “Reckon we’re surrounded.”

“ _Shit._ ”

Rick slammed the box shut and massaged his head. Unsure if the tension there was the remnants of a hangover or their current situation. Probably a brilliant combination of both.

Merle pushed away from the window, smirking, because _of course_ he was. He’d find the funny side if they were sent on a one-way trip to hell, never mind trapped in a snowstorm.

He sat down on a large rectangular box labelled ‘8 ft Christmas tree’, which also happened to be the reason for their current situation.

“Y’know, cuttin’ down a real tree would’ve been like… _a billion_ times easier than this.”

“Maybe,” Rick looked sheepishly to the side. “You were right about the snow, I guess.”

Merle looked far too pleased with the admittance, and his grin stretched.

“Maybe you oughta listen to me more often.”

“Let’s not get crazy, now.”

But it would’ve been easier, and it _was_ a stupid plan, retrospectively. Rick could admit that to himself, at least. 

If they were going to war against manic Governors, cannibalistic communities, and people with brain-bashing baseball bats calling themselves ‘saviours’, just to be killed off on a trip to find a damn Christmas tree…well, perhaps they’d been asking for it all along.

It’d seemed like a good idea last night though, because everything seemed like a good idea when the drinks were flowing and everyone was happy for once.

Christ, Rick hadn’t seen Carl _that_ happy in forever. And he’d only been sitting there, with Enid and Judith.

Judith, who was old enough to wander about and get herself into trouble now.

Carl had mentioned that she was also old enough to have a Christmas she’d remember too, and maybe a Christmas tree would be nice.

Rick had looked between Merle and Michonne, and they’d both communicated, with raised brows, that it might be an idea. Not a _good_ idea, clearly, but an idea.

“Hell, we don’t even know when Christmas is, no-more,” Merle said.

He was resting his head in his hand again, clearly still combating whatever was left of his hangover. 

Rick sat down next to him.

“Not true. Accordin’ to Eugene’s _very_ precise calculations, we’re in the right week, at least.”

“And you’re still takin’ Mullet’s word on _anythin’_?”

Rick smirked. “Give him a break. He helped us against Negan, remember.”

Merle rolled his eyes.

“Man. I can’t believe we’re gonna die cos of a Christmas tree.”

Rick sighed, heavier than he’d intended to.

“Guess I just wanted it to be a good one.”

It wasn’t a good excuse, not at all, but Merle’s smile seemed to suggest it was good enough.

“Well. Might be fer the best. Sure you woulda put me straight to work, choppin’ down a real Christmas tree.”

“Now that’s an idea,” Rick smiled. “Wouldn’t be a bad view, either.”

“Hah,” Merle’s gaze slid to the side, perhaps unconvinced.

That wouldn’t do, so Rick grabbed his collar and pulled him in.

They kissed shortly, but deep enough to draw a murmured moan between them, and for a few seconds Rick thought that death-by-failed-Christmas-shopping-trip might actually be worth it.

A tinkling sound interrupted insane thoughts, somewhere in front of them.

Rick broke the kiss and looked at the door, watching as the spidering cracks of glass began to break too.

Walkers could always be counted on when it came to ruining an intimate moment. It was half-expected in the new world, and Christmas was obviously no exception. No Christmas spirit amongst the dead.

“We better move our asses.” 

Merle pouted. “Do we hafta?”

“Yeah,” and Rick was sorry.

He smoothed a hand around rugged jawline, taking a couple of ill-afforded seconds to notice another new scar there.

“They’re gonna break through any minute now.”

Merle tilted his head resentfully at the door. “…couldn’t’ve given us a couple more minutes, could they?”

“That all you can manage these days, old boy?”

Merle’s smile extended. “Dunno. Wanna find out?”

“You got a death wish, Dixon.”

Rick stood up, and in the same moment the door fell apart and the first walker came tumbling through with it.

Then the next, and the next, piling up and up, and then shambling to their feet in Rick and Merle’s direction, like ghoulish snowmen.

“Ugh, alright,” Merle grumbled, and turned round to look at the Christmas tree box. “Give me a hand, then. Or two.”

Rick blinked at him.

“…Merle, we can’t take the damn tree _now._ ”

“Eh, sure we can. You take the back end, I’ll go front ways. Easy as pie.”

Rick dithered.

Seriously considering executing any of Merle’s ideas was like a game of Russian roulette, except that the gun had just the one empty slot in the revolver. But this idea seemed particularly stupid.

Even so, Merle was already smashing approaching walkers in their snow frosted faces with a bladed arm, all whilst attempting to hold up the front of the box with his better one.

“C’mon, Sheriff. I ain’t so keen on dyin’ here.”

Rick supposed, begrudgingly, that he could agree with that.

He crouched and picked up the other end of the box.

“…alright. Lunatic.”

They held the box between them like a pair of clumsy pallbearers, edging toward the doorway. It might’ve looked hopeless (and ridiculous), but the advantages against walkers during wintertime were surprising.

They were slower moving for one thing, if not already frozen, and easier to kill or avoid. Even a small hoard, which currently surrounded them, was not so unmanageable anymore.

“Look at this dumbass,” Merle said in demonstration, and smashed one in the throat with the point of his bladed arm. “ _Bullseye_.”

The walker’s head snapped off pretty spectacularly, sparkling icicles with it. Merle took some precious time to laugh and admire his handiwork, before another walker was ambling toward him.

Rick pushed forwards, and they fell out the door and into the snowstorm. 

Rick squinted ahead but couldn’t see much past the end of the box, where the outline of Merle was still (somehow) standing steady. The winds were gale-force, stinging with flakes of hail-like snow against them.

"Think I see somethin’,” Merle’s voice was muffled by the wind.

He stepped forwards, and Rick had no choice but to follow a questionable lead.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Merle. _Of course he did._ There had been far too many close encounters and lucky escapes together, to ever doubt that.

It must’ve been something else, then.

A walker’s hand suddenly appeared through the frosted air, lurching for Rick and snatching at his arm. 

Another bladed arm sliced down upon it just in time, and Rick dropped his end of the box to see Merle wrestling back the rogue walker. 

Rick finished it off with a knife to the head, just a moment before it's mouth reached Merle's shoulder. 

Merle twisted round to look at Rick.

"You okay?"

Rick took a short breath of relief.

“You nearly got _bit_ ,” he was supposed to sound furious about it, but it came out too brittle for that.

Merle's face was mostly obscured by snow, but close enough for Rick to see his mouth curving up. 

“Aw. I coulda taken it,” he said.

“ _Dumbass_ ,” Rick snapped. A well-worn afterthought, at this point.

Merle’s grin fell.

He kicked the fallen walker in the torso, then bent down to the box.

“C’mon then, Friendly. Let’s get movin’.”

**

**

Turned out that Merle had seen the outline of a large house just in front of them.

It came into view like a beautiful mirage, and the storm might’ve parted for it, or else Rick was getting delirious with the cold.

Merle booted the door open, and they fell into a dim hallway and then into the lounge, trailing snow everywhere. Merle dropped his end of the box with a grateful sound, and then sunk onto the couch as if it were his own.

A grand old fireplace was the centrepiece of the room. Prettier without the dried blood spots that stained the floor, or the skeletal remains of a walker that languished near the bay window.

“Can’t see shit out there,” Merle said. He shook snow from his boots, then stretched out his bad arm with a poorly hidden grimace. “Where’d the hell we leave the car, anyway?”

Rick sat down next to him, immediately taking the arm in his hands. 

“Shockingly, somewhere in the car park,” he pulled the bloodied and bladed canister free, and Merle’s grimace turned into a groan. “Sorry. Reckon we’ll be okay if we can wait out the storm. And the walkers.”

Merle pulled a face.

“We forgot the damn decorations.”

“Never mind,” Rick raised the mutilated arm, lightly touching gnarled and tendered edges of skin. “Does it hurt a lot?”

Merle’s eyes still averted with the gesture, just not so obviously these days.

“Nah. Just gets kinda sore when it’s cold, sometimes.”

He pulled the problem-arm away from Rick’s hold, and his gaze became warier.

“Weren’t tryin’ to get us killed out there, y’know.”

“I know that.” 

“Good,” then Merle looked away, jaw clenching with a smile that looked forced. “Don’t wanna have to drag your sorry ass back to Alexandria, anyways.”

Rick smiled.

“Nice to know you care.”

Merle blinked, as if the words had taken him by surprise. He cleared his throat and stretched out his arm, all with another wincing sound.

“Here, Let me-“ said Rick.

“Think they’re missin’ us right now?" Merle interrupted, very quickly. “Wonderin’ if we bit the dust?” 

Rick shook his head.

“I doubt it. You know Carl’s too caught up with Enid. And Daryl’s probably glad to be rid of _your_ sorry ass for a while.”

“Hah, probably," Merle grinned. "An' I reckon he’ll be too busy bakin’ gingerbread men with Carol. I hear she’s real good at them.”

“Is that some kind of perverted insinuation, Dixon?”

Merle shrugged. He still did a shockingly good job of looking innocent, considering the fact that he was Merle Dixon.

“I can’t help if you got a gutter mind, Friendly.”

Rick snorted.

“I think they’re all gonna be too distracted helping Tara with the Christmas dinner, anyway," he said. "Or making sure she doesn’t set the whole community on fire as she attempts it.”

“I'll be sure to tell her you said that. An’ I’ll be sure to finish you off too, so you don’t turn when she likely kills you.”

“You’re so considerate.”

“ _I am_ ,” Merle's grin extended, but Rick noticed the tremble on his skin at the same time.

“You still cold?” 

He pretended not to be so concerned about it, only because he knew Merle hated that.

“Freezin’ my balls off,” Merle said. He seemed to hesitate, when he looked at Rick again. “Uh. Wanna cosy up or some shit? You know, like they do in the movies?”

“That your idea of foreplay? How romantic,” Rick grasped a hand anyway, pressing and injecting some warmth into it. “You should’ve worn a thicker coat. And some gloves.”

“ _A_ glove,” Merle corrected, looking at Rick’s hand, all curled around his own. “Ain’t this way more fun, though?” 

Rick scoffed but reached out, dusting some powdered snow off curling hair. 

"You don't have to ask for a cuddle, dummy."

Then he kissed Merle on the mouth.

“…mm,” Merle hummed, unable to do much else. He lay back some more on the couch, compliant with Rick's gentle nudging. 

Rick pulled his gloves off, fingers quickly wandering upon startled flesh.

"Jesus, Merle. You _are_ freezing. _"_

"...m' good..." 

Rick shook his head. “Hey, you got a match?”

“…hmm?” Merle already looked happily dazed, around another kiss. “…a what?”

“ _A match_.”

“...oh, uh. Yeah.”

A fumbled few seconds, before Merle was pulling a box out his pocket, then offering it to Rick with a mildly interested face.

“What you gonna do? Burn the house down?” he sounded hopeful about it.

“Not quite,” Rick peeled off the couch and turned to look at the grand old fireplace.

It was still scattered with firewood, and he wondered shortly about the damp, before striking a match and chucking it into it.

The fire lit within a few seconds; a soft ember that allowed shadows to dance upon the walls, hinting at a decadence that the house might’ve flaunted in years gone by.

“Real nice,” Merle commented. He looked more interested in Rick, though.

“Might even stop us freezing to death for a while,” Rick looked out the nearest window. “Nothin’ like a white Christmas, right?”

The sky was still a blanket of white, dotted with snow that was falling fast and thick, but it wasn’t so hazy anymore. The hoard was nowhere to be seen, but Rick knew that dormant walkers were not worth the risk of rousing in these conditions, either.

“Don’t remember last Christmas,” said Merle. He was watching the fireplace with an unusually pensive face. “Before the world went to shit, I mean. Reckon I was blind drunk…or high off my ass. Or locked up.”

“Or all three, right?” Rick guessed.

“Hell, it _was_ Christmas.”

Rick snorted and stepped away from the window.

“I’m guessin’ Dixon family Christmas’s were always pretty eventful, then?”

“Nah.”

Merle pushed off the couch. He knelt down on the floor, closer to the fire. 

“They’re nothin’ worth talkin’ about.”

There was a morose edge to his voice, even if he didn’t look particularly sad about it.

Rick knelt close behind him, planting hands on shoulders.

“You spent Christmas in prison? Why am I not surprised at all?”

“Yeah. A few, thinkin' about it,” Merle sounded like he might be sneering. "You disappointed in me, Sheriff?"

“Hm. Depends what you were in for.”

“Jus’ the usual. Bein’ a piece of shit.”

“I see," Rick wasn't sure he cared to know the details, anyway. 

He felt Merle’s shoulders roll, but he didn’t move away.

"Bet you was busy carvin’ your turkey and playin’ happy families, all around the same time I was bein’ shown the cell wall.”

“Maybe,” Rick shrugged.

It wasn’t entirely true, but that didn’t really matter. Merle had no need to know about Rick’s tumultuous and deteriorating marriage back in the old world, and he probably didn’t care to know about it, anyway.

“Wonder if you ever put the cuffs on me?" Merle said. "Before the world went to shit, I mean.”

Rick laughed. “Hah, I doubt that. We weren’t even in the same state.”

“Hey, I got around.”

“Oh I _bet_ you did.”

“Now who’s full of ‘perverted insinuations,’ Friendly?”

“Can’t help your gutter mind, either.”

“Bastard,” Merle said. Then tilted his head back, just enough to catch Rick’s gaze. His mouth curved up, and it was almost coy. “Would’ve remembered a smartass cop like you, anyway.”

“Would’ve remembered you, too.”

Merle's smile became wry.

“You wouldn’t. Jus’ another junkie to add to yer naughty list.”

Rick shook his head and leaned forwards some more. Fingers plying at shoulders, massaging away knots of tensed and cool muscle.

Merle made a sound of pleasure, the stream of cold air in front of him indicating a soft sigh. Not to mention the way his shoulders sagged so completely under Rick’s hands.

“…but this is a good one,” he muttered.

Rick pulled him gently back, to meet his chest.

“This Christmas, you mean?”

“Yeah,” a considered pause, and Merle’s laugh sounded different. “Ain’t that funny?”

“No. Kinda tragic, to be honest,” Rick said, and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “Considerin’ we’ve nearly died a couple of times already today. And we’re sittin’ way too close to a corpse right now.”

Merle’s shrug was slight.

“We ain’t dead, though,” his mouth arced against Rick’s throat line, into an almost-kiss. “…damn. But when did I get so lucky?”

Then he bowed his head into the crook of Rick’s neck, like he might’ve been recoiling at his own words.

Rick smiled, all around another kiss.

“The more important question is when did you get so sentimental? You’re not even drunk today. Or is it the hangover talkin'?”

“It’s Christmas time, I’m jus' gettin’ in the spirit. Or some shit like that.”

“It’s ‘some shit like that’, I reckon," and Rick slid his hands the rest of the way around, to meet Merle’s chest. 

The beat of a heart against his palm was soothing. Even some incredible relief. In the same way it’d been earlier, after Merle’s near-miss with a walker. And every other time that dumbass had almost got himself killed and then hadn’t.

It always seemed to happen when he was helping Rick, though. Risking life and remaining limbs for him, like it was _normal_. 

The realisation wasn’t so sudden, but it was still enough to make Rick’s chest ache.

He stared at the spots of blood still dripping off Merle's jacket. Remnants of that last walker attack. 

“You didn’t have to come with me today, you know.” 

“Sure I did. Sheriff always needs some back up,” Merle said, as if it were obvious. “And you don’t half-ass a plan. Even a real dumb one like this.”

“Well you'd know all about that,” Rick said, and pressed another kiss to his neck. “...thanks for saving my dumb ass today, by the way. Think Carl and Judith are gonna appreciate it.”

"They _better,_ " Merle's mouth shaped a smile, and he sighed again as Rick's hands wandered.

The flames were licking higher upon the fireplace now, but the heat didn’t have anything to do with that anymore.

Merle’s body felt much warmer, and Rick began prying at a buckled belt, and brushing at exposed skin, all with a very slow and deliberate indulgence. It was something that time didn’t usually afford them, back in Alexandria. 

Merle’s bad arm jerked out, perhaps involuntarily, with the touch.

“ _Easy,_ ” Rick said, and kissed him again. 

There was a softer exhale, but he could already feel skin prickling against his wandering fingertips.

“…ain’t been too bad this year, have I?” Merle muttered.

There was something imploring in his voice.

Rick tilted his head back, to look at him properly.

“Could've mistook you for a goddam angel this year, Dixon.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but the words crackled and felt heavier in his mouth. And it was funny, because there were no Christmas lights around to create some of that bullshit haloing light now, either. Just the glow of flames flickering upon skin, making a roguish grin look tentative and softer.

But maybe it’d always looked like that.

“Angel? _Jesus christ_ , you must still be drunk,” Merle baulked, turning his head away. His profile furrowed into a frown. “Hey, look at that. Storms stopped.”

Rick followed his gaze out the window.

The sky was tinted orange with the remerging sun, and the snow had settled at last, into floating specks that dusted the window.

Rick shifted, arms curling tighter around Merle's body.

“You're warming up a bit.”

Merle's chest quivered with a short laugh.

“Thought this was s’posed to be a quick run, Friendly?”

“Well. It’s still early. And I got an early Christmas present for you, if you want it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Just a little one,” Rick said, and he pressed, less subtly, against Merle’s back.

Merle frowned.

“What’s…” his breath lilted, as Rick shifted again. "Oh, right..."

Then he slackened properly in Rick’s arms, head tipping back with a moan as guttural as a curse word.

“…fuck,” he mumbled anyway. "But that don’t feel so little, Friendly...”

Rick smiled against his shoulder.

“Merry Christmas, jackass.”

**


End file.
